she knows what she'll see. her weight rests on four points. but she wants to look.

they walk through tall grass, shorter and sparser as they advance. the mists pull away to reveal a lake. odd deer drink in a herd, painted and thin-antlered. some lift their heads. but her focus is elsewhere.

the shore is soft, so she approaches gently. her head hovers over the water. it takes a moment for the image to clear.

the woman looks down, and sees a hound.

the lion is speaking, but she is enthralled. the loveliest dame from santa croce to castello, tilts her head and the mastino does too.

she angles herself, looks from each corner, perhaps testing the lion's patience.

then she finally lifts her head, staring intently at the deer sharing water.

a boom - she barks!

and the deer panic and scatter into the treeline.

the hound-woman laughs, utterly delighted.

what a beast i have become! she glints with mischief, turning then to the evangelist's spirit. approximating in an unclothed body with four feet, she curtsies to him.

ippolita sancha di san magiore, my lord. her head lifts again. and where would we be? was this the pool of betzaeta, as described by giovanni? she did hear of a gate named for lions.

uhuru felt that he had become accustomed to her oddities, all until she barked like an aspersion cast again the canine itself. then his round tattered ears did splay in a purely feline illustration of distaste.

she with the name he would not attempt was fascinated by herself. had he not been present to witness this corporeal form, uhuru might have thought she was not herself at all in days past. confused, perhaps, he assumed, until her pleasure was clear below the wrinkles of her doggish face.

my lord, though. he decided he enjoyed that. this be'est the savannah. a thousand names it hath. we walk beneath the sun and hunt before the moon is full.

tufted tailtip twitched. am i to call thee all these syllables or only a few?

she did not seem to be caught in the wake of tragedy following this revelation; in fact the lion felt that she was almost delighted, an incomprehensible concept given the fact that she was not a cat.

sabana. so she was not far off. these have to be the lands of eden, where lions still roam.

and this one knows very well that she hides behind a false name.

a smirk, pushing layers of skin into a corner. she sits down as a dog should.

sancha. what she was named at mother's breast. doubtful that the lion of marco would care for the patronym of a fishmonger's bloodline.

you speak of the moon... her body leans to look around the great cat. is it usually pink?

the orb did not cease its rise as they idled. it is now a slightly stronger, provocative color.

this does not perturb her. such were dreams.

---

"an incomprehensible concept given the fact that she was not a cat" love hiiimmm

---

:D

sancha. i am uhuru. there was no starfall of melodic sounds to follow. he moved now to stare up at the sky, the broad paws with their sheathed knives carefully folded as the legs of any noblewoman. no. yet matteres't not the hue of that celestial body. blood wilt be spilled all the same. and where would her place be? uhuru pondered this. the lionesses had lessened in number, their scents fading. he was a man alone in the rich vast world.

he did not mind so much, but it was not the way of his kind to be solitary. was it her own?

why did she wear this body with such ease if it was new?

has thou hunted before, in any cape of flesh, sancha? the lion questioned, and now the rightmost hand let blades slide slowly free in contemplation. thou shouldst become acquainted with a newer world and a newer face. the great cat rose then, stretching in heavy ripple and shaking slowly out the proud mane which had not yet netted him any feminine attentions.

uhuru. the head doggishly tilts. was that in the language the savior spoke? ah, well. her paramours seldom treated her with the holy tongue. pardon a harlot her gaps in education.

her name is pleasant to hear spoken by him. but she's to disappoint.

not once. a mussel could escape me. she jests. but i am sure a hound is naturally of use.

she rises too, testing her jaw. feels the stretch and pop of sinew and muscle which operate it.

i've a good bite, i think. and a devout heart. she lifts a paw to it. i'll help my lord any way i can.

was there ever an odder way to earn passage into heaven?

---

fine by meee

hunter 1/5

a hound.

was that what she was?

those beasts which ran from thy voice. one sort is gazelle. the other is antelope. both fleet but cursed with a small mind. her physicality was imposing as was his own, but this trait was not lent easily to speed. there be'st also zebra, giraffe, buffalo, wildebeeste. hare. coney. badger. beware the jackal and the hyena. beware the wild dog. all these will call to you as you are one of them, uhuru pointed out, but they be'st filled with rancour and deceit.

leopard, cheetah, serval -- they would not like this new entry to the land, but beside the lion they had little choice but forced acceptance. it was a strategy he enjoyed, for few stood before his teeth but those others of his kind.

we will go slowly. when hunger is whet, we will choose and kill.

my lord. it pulsed in his heart and held. he swung away and began the leonine swagger for parts unknown.

she listens. he describes a magical land. one where she might be tempted, but nevertheless one preferred to the base evils of man.

it delights her, expressed through the wags of her tail - when she notices it doing so, it cheers her even more.

sancha follows after the leon. his steps are long, but a trot helps her keep the pace.

they travel the rim of the lake. north, unbeknownst to her.

and every ten steps, she finds something new to wonder at.

many sorts of animals come to the waters. they are quick to leave at their approach. as she spots them, she catches up to uhuru's grand head, and gestures with her own.

antelope? she tries to identify.

zebra.

gazelle.

this is done for each new sight, until she's learned the looks of a wildebeest, the difference between springboks and impalas, and been told the long bird with a straw crown is a crane.

and there is still much more to be seen.

and somehow, her curiosities go back to him.

are there many like you? she asks as they plod through a muddy bank.

---

let's keep going until u got enough for base hunter. then maybe a thread backdated either to next day, or two days later...? we'll see how this one goes.

---

hunter 2/5

once, uhuru answered.

sancha had been a student to every blade of golded grass and every pile of spoor. a quick learner, moreso than any other canine counterpart which might be encountered by himself. there be'st always more women than men. it is the way.

but here he was the only man. there were no lionesses. there be'st other cats. spotted, barred. faster. more isolated. but they are not my kind, uhuru pointed out with the same dry pride he always possessed.

amid the wet dirt he located the tracks for which he had been wanting: a lamed kudu.

the lion's pace did not quicken; he turned to pace along this trail as easily as he had before, wondering if that aforementioned hunger had yet overtaken sancha's curiosity.

he still had not come to understand why her tail swayed in that way.

it is the best way. she validates, pulling one paw free of sucking mud.

she does not spot the tracks, merely follows him. thinking on his words.

nobody would mistake you for any other cat, my lord. the streets and canals are in her mind. you don't look the sort to steal the wares from a fishmonger!

her giggle pauses as one paw sinks lower than the rest. she needs a moment to pull herself onto the firmer path again.

and your women... i hear they don't have any of your wonderful mane. how unfair. hair as dense and blonde as his would certainly look great styled atop a courtesan's head.

---

hunter 3/5

unbecoming, a mane in a leonine woman, quipped uhuru, thought he was not immune to sancha's flattery. he saw this for her as a matter of course, for her own jokes and teasing had not abated since before fresh visage was glimpsed in the water.

had she been the same in earlier life? uhuru tried to imagine it, his form stuffed into a foreign skin and reborn into an unknown face. he found he did not like the image at all.

and he did not know what a fishmonger might be.

dog-maimed kudu had escaped the spotted pack only to be trailed by leopard and hyena. lion stooped beneath lone acacia to inspect the pug marks and the white feces left by each alike.

be'st we in competition, uhuru declared to sancha. his own tail rose, nails extended -- a spray of pungent oily urine against unwitting bole to declare his intent for dominance.